Get Your Hands Off
by Tarafina
Summary: "The next person who tries to tickle me is going to be sued!" Rachel declared. :Evanberry:


**Title**: Get Your Hands Off (Before You Lose Them Both For Good)  
><strong>Category<strong>: Glee  
><strong>Genre<strong>: Humor/Romance  
><strong>Ship<strong>: Sam/Rachel  
><strong>Rating<strong>: PG-13/Teen  
><strong>Prompt<strong>: Samchel – Tickle by Anonymous  
><strong>Word Count<strong>: 1,580  
><strong>Summary<strong>: "The next person who tries to tickle me is going to be sued!" Rachel declared.

**_Get Your Hands Off (Before You Lose Them Both For Good)_**  
>-11-

He used it to his advantage.

Rachel had always maintained that she was not ticklish; that there was no particular spot on her person any more sensitive than another. Sam knew this to be wrong. Truthfully, she'd always known this, but there was something about laughing uncontrollably that simply looked undignified. She was well aware that she had control issues. She just thought it would be easier to avoid being tickled and therefore forced against her will into a squirming, giggling mess.

Sam, having figured out what he liked to call her 'sweet spot' while they were in the midst of putting his adorably larger lips to good use, along with his large, warm hands and her soundproof bedroom, had since decided to use it against her whenever he deemed necessary.

Point in fact, he once trailed his fingers over it while she was in the middle of a very long, very detailed speech on the merits of eating kosher to Noah, who had long gotten that glazed look in his eyes. She quickly lost her train of thought and Puck was smart enough to turn tail and run before she could gather her wits.

Sam once snuck up on her while she was arguing with Mr. Shuester about whether or not she should have her own personal spotlight, with a softer glow. He tickled her until she had tears in her eyes, gave up on her mission for better lighting, and instead spent the rest of her lunch break with him under a tree in the courtyard, trading carrot sticks for kisses.

She tried to walk out on glee club once, though she can't for the life of her remember why exactly, and he chased after her, catching up as she was just feet from the door, slid his hand up her sweater, wiggled his fingers, and she was a giggling, snorting mess that completely lost any chance of being taken seriously.

It went on and on, and while part of Rachel liked it on occasion, it had now reached its peak.

She was ranting, steam coming out of her ears she was sure, and stomping her foot to get her point across. And Finn, loveable dope that he would forever remain, was backing up slowly, that constipated baby look on his face that he got whenever he was partly confused, a lot uncomfortable, and seriously considering abandoning any chance of salvation. Just as she was mid-sentence, he reached out and tickled her side.

Effective as always, she reared back as she laughed, stumbling over her feet. It wasn't the first time she'd been tickled, of course, but it was the first time somebody besides Sam managed to find the right spot. Glaring, she huffed, turned on her heel, and left.

It wasn't just Finn who did it either. In the first week, Mercedes, Kurt, Noah, and Brittany all either attempted or succeeded.

And she was _sick _of it.

She was tired of being cut off mid-sentence; of her personal space being disrespected; of her so-called friends immediately tickling her to avoid whatever news she brought them that day just because they didn't want to hear her speak. It was like her kryptonite and they all knew about it; they all knew how to _shut her up_.

It wasn't until Santana approached, rolling her eyes, muttering, "Where was your off button again?" that she finally lost it.

"This is _your _fault!" she cried, pointing at Sam angrily. And with a dramatic whirl, she turned to leave the room, on the verge of real tears.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa…" He caught up to her, wrapping his arms around her waist, and twirled her around before she could get away.

"Put me down!" she shouted, kicking her legs. "Right this instant, Sam Evans!"

He dropped her to her feet but blocked the door. "What'd _I _do?" he asked, genuinely confused.

"They all _know_…" She cast a glare back at the club. "And they're all doing it. It's rude and undignified and I'm sick and tired of being humiliated."

Sam's eyes darted in confused. "Rach, I don't—I don't know what you're talking about…"

Hands balled up into fists, she walked closer to him and whisper-shouted, "They're all _tickling _me!"

"Wait, _what…?_" He looked back at the others.

"It's _effective_, okay?" Santana scoffed. "She gets all red in the face and squirms around like a midget fool. It's amusing _and _she's too embarrassed to keep nagging us…" She examined her nails dismissively. "Problem solved."

"I don't see what the big deal is…" Mercedes frowned. "Sam did it all the time."

"_Sam _is my boyfriend! He's _allowed _to touch my body. At no point did I invite _any _of you to do that," Rachel argued, hands on her hips.

"How many of you have tickled her?" Sam wondered, brows furrowed.

Everybody but Tina, Mr. Shuester, and Mike raised their hands.

"And the next person who tries is going to be _sued!_" Rachel declared.

"Okay, I think we all need to calm down," Mr. Shuester suggested.

"No. I've put up with this for _weeks_… I asked you _politely_, I told you I didn't like it, and you all _ignored _me, so that's it!" She threw her hands up. "You can all discuss this with my lawyer… Who also happens to be my father, and I'll have you know he's a very talented and hard working attorney, and you will all pay for your actions!"

Santana sighed, standing from her seat. "All right, somebody needs to shut her up…" She wiggled her fingers and smirked snidely. "It'd be my pleasure."

Rachel hid behind Sam, gripping the back of his shirt tightly, and glared at the Latina from behind his arm. "Get away from me!"

Sam held his hands up, keeping Santana at bay. "Okay, listen… The tickling thing is way out of control…" He shook his head. "I mean, I was only doing it because Rachel's my girl and it seemed funny to tease her at the time…" He frowned. "But that was personal… Between _us_…" He reached back and brought her up to his side, squeezing her hand in his. "Sometimes she gets overly excited and I thought it was an easier way to distract her. I'm not trying to _shut her up_…" He turned to smile at her. "I like how opinionated she is…"

Rachel's ire began to fade, a smile tugging at her lips. "Really?"

"Of course." Taking her hip in his hand, he drew her in close. "When I tickle you, it's spontaneous, 'cause you look extra pretty when I catch you off guard. Your skin turns pink and your smile gets bigger and you're just happy… But that was between us; it wasn't… I didn't want anybody else to do it…" He shook his head, telling her in Na'vi, "_Ngaytxoa_." (Sorry, my apologies.)

She took a deep breath and let it out on a sigh, playing with the buttons of his shirt as she nodded. "_Tslolam_." (I understand.)

"Ugh, puke," Santana muttered, walking back to her chair.

Rachel pursed her lips after the Latina. "Listen… Maybe I was a little hasty when I said I'd press charges for your unappreciated acts of physical abuse."

Sam tugged on her hair.

Rolling her eyes, she corrected, "For _tickling _me when I didn't want you to…"

"But Rachel _does_ have a point," Mr. Shue said, casting his eyes around the choir room. "You shouldn't be taking advantage of something you know she considers a weakness just because you don't like what she's saying."

"I vote none of you touch her at all," Sam suggested, raising his brows high with meaning. "Like, _ever_."

Rachel clapped her hands together agreeably. "Seconded."

"What if she's hurt?" Brittany wondered, frowning.

"Fine, if I'm in need of assistance," she allowed.

"What if it's to push you out of the way of something that _could _hurt you?" she questioned, eyes narrowed curiously.

"That too."

"Okay, what _if_…" She leaned forward in her seat eagerly. "You did something good and I want to pat you on the back?"

Sighing, Rachel smiled. "Yes, Brittany, that's okay too."

"Handshakes?"

"Fine."

"Dancing?"

"As long as your hands are in an appropriate place."

She tipped her head thoughtfully. "Does it apply to _animals?_"

"No, Lord Tubbington is welcomed," she assured knowingly.

"Oh! Oh!" She raised a hand, even though she was the only one offering up scenarios.

"Yes. Brittany," Sam said, pointing at her amusedly.

"What if you need a _hug?_" she worried.

"And Sam's not available for some reason?" Rachel said, brow quirked.

Brittany shook her head.

"Then yes, okay, you can give me a hug."

Satisfied, Brittany sat back in her seat, and grinned. "I can work with that."

"Great." Rachel looked around. "Anybody else?"

"Like I wanted to touch you in the _first _place," Santana sneered.

"It's mutual," she returned, before looking up at Sam. "Thank you. That officially solves my problem."

"You sure you don't want to get a written agreement?" he teased.

Rachel looked away thoughtfully and tapped her chin. "Daddy _would _help me write it up… No loopholes, binding contract, everybody would be obligated to sign…"

Shaking his head, Sam reached down and tickled her side, throwing off her concentration and forcing her into a laugh. As she pouted up at him irritably, he slanted his lips over hers. He much preferred kissing her as a form of distraction anyway. It just so happened to be her favorite too.

[**End.**]


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